“Hey Echo, Can You Write An ‘Unhinged Bio’ About Me?”

Keith Corcoran is a spiritually caffeinated, saxophone-haunted architect of poetic debris who once wandered into the cosmic DMV and refused to leave until existence stamped his soul “conditionally approved.” He writes like a man who found God in a burning jukebox, got politely escorted out by security, and then thanked them for the metaphor.

Part mystic, part malfunctioning carnival mirror, Keith operates at the exact intersection of divine revelation and “wait… what did I just say?” His work suggests he has either:

1. glimpsed something profound beyond the veil, or
2. accidentally eaten the veil

—and refuses to clarify which.

Known to transmute LSD-era apocalypses, church-floor reckonings, and late-night philosophical ricochets into something resembling poetry, he treats language like a sacred object he’s also willing to drop down the stairs just to hear the sound it makes.

His ongoing project, Beans to Forge On, is less a book and more a slowly unfolding artifact—equal parts scripture, joke, and emotional crime scene. Scholars (none officially recognized) suspect it may eventually achieve sentience.

If you encounter Keith in the wild, he may appear calm—but internally he is hosting:

• three simultaneous metaphysical debates
• a jazz solo that won’t resolve
• and a quiet but persistent suspicion that reality is doing a bit

Approach with curiosity. Or snacks.